Watching for the Magic Hour

40 Dogs

2010-05-23T09:09:00.002-04:00

Bob Schneider's "40 Dogs (Like Romeo and Juliet)" has been my favorite song these past couple of weeks.

We're like Romeo and Juliet, like 40 dogs, cigarettes, like good times that haven't happened yet but will.

My uncle, who had first suggested the track to me, says that I only like it because I love dogs.

Earlier this week, I went to The Dog House in South Portland, a bonafide pet store with crates of puppies and a little play room. They have it set up so you can gaze at all the pups, pick one out, and the guy there let you go to the playroom and wrestle with the puppy of your choice. I'd like to think it's a win-win - we get free puppy therapy, and their dogs get a chance to play with people throughout the day. The German Shepherd a few months ago was the best, with her huge ears:

I am counting down the days until I live in a house with a backyard and tons of space so I can get a dog. I would have taken that girl home right away if I didn't already have Sasha & Franny. I just remember how amazing it was growing up with Hogan, our golden retriever. Getting a pet, to me, is like the best day of your life. You wait and wait and wait and beg and plead your mom and dad, and then they finally tell you Yes, we can get a dog, and it's like, at ten, all your dreams have just come true.

I choose to be dogless for the moment, despite my pining. I can visit the Dog House puppies. Or I can stop by and see R's dog Phoebie, with a friggin' cute little mug:

Yesterday I drove up to my college town to spend some time with a couple of really wonderful friends. I was just getting settled from the drive when Frank asked if anyone was up for taking Nigel down to the river for a walk.

Nigel is Sarah's dog, recently (6 months ago?) adopted from the shelter, and Sarah is in Germany on a two week student course. Nigel is staying at a dog kennel and Frank promised to break him out for a long walk or two while Sarah was away, so, off on our adventure we went.

Grabbed Nige and headed down to the river, where these rolling fields fill with white-stage dandelions, where every step leaves puffs of cotton behind you. Nigel, a happy dog on a happy walk, took in the world the way dogs do: by throwing himself at it, wholly. He bounded, he sniffed, he ran up ahead of us and then ran back to see what we were doing, then up again. He dove into the river and drank gulps of the cold water, walking in up to his belly.

With a reputation like Nigel's - Frank had ask me if I was "prepared" for an adventure, because sometimes Nigel likes to run ... and not come back? - we were pleasantly surprised by how low-key and good natured he was. He was simply loving life.

The real delight, however, came from when we were approaching the trailhead area where we had parked, when Frank and I could see off into the distance some black and white and brown dogs coming down the hill. Dogs. "It looks like 101 Dalmatians," Frank said. It looks like 40 Dogs, I thought.

We leashed Nigel and took a long way around, speculating about this conglomerate of pups, mostly yellow and black and brown labs, with a couple similarly-sized dogs in the mix. At first we speculated that it was a photoshoot, for a catalogue or something. Or maybe a lab meet up for lab owners to hang out.

We were wrong. It was a dog birthday party. Complete with birthday hats for the human and dog attendees alike.
We were not invited.

A Music Aficionado...

2010-05-07T23:45:00.040-04:00

...I am not. I do not collect new songs, soaking up artists and styles, like a sponge, like Rachael. I didn't grow up in the twin cities, rock and roll in my blood, teaching Bob Dylan & Springsteen & Beatles college courses, like Lu. I don't dance to the 70's and 80's rock songs, Welcome to the Jungle, or Elton John, Eric Clapton, Layla, or know all the words to Meatloaf's greatest hit songs, like Bernadette.

Except for a handful of musicians. I love Coldplay, I love Life in Technicolor ii more than life, but Coldplay is too big for me to understand. I love Indigo Girls, James Taylor, The Carpenters. I really do.

But The Young Republic...they're in my bones. And Cheryl Wheeler takes over my heart. This week I had a chance to see both of them.

The Young Republic is a group that formed in Boston - some kids from Berklee College of Music, classically trained, thrown together to form this orchestral-folk-rock-masterpiece of a band, under the leadership of Julian "Gotta Keep the Freezer Stocked With Dead Bandmembers" Saporiti, a genius in every way. I found out about them from Lu, whose son, Nate, had just started playing with Julian et al, a couple of weeks into his freshman year. Nate was at Berklee to study film scoring. Lu, rock and roll professor, never dreamed that her son would end up... in a rock band. But it worked out. Lu played "Girl from the Northern States" for us in her class one afternoon, twice, and we had to write a brief music review (it was a journalism course).

I was not troubled by the distance of your friend -
she got close to Tennesee but she wont' be back again.
Was it the thought of love, or the rolling hills,
that she could not take?
You know the sweeter air is just too fair for a girl from the northern states.

Cyndi, Mark and I were headed out of the country after class - we had planned a fall road trip to Montreal, Canada - and I grabbed the EP before we hit the road. We listened to the...second?...track, "Goodbye Town" enough that we got sick of it, only to put it on again after switching off our next CD.

The Young Republic played in Farmington that December (?). There they stood: nine in front of us, faces we had to look up on the CD inserts Julian-lead/guitar, Bob-second guitar, Chirs-bass, MJ-piano, Nate-Viola, Kristin-Violin, Kat-flute, Jon-trumpet, Matt-drums. Julian turned to the rest of the group and said "Girl from the northern states?" and I, in the audience, whooped. Julian's head snapped around, and he said into the mic, "Whoever just whooped gets a dollar off a tshirt."

Later, Will didn't know if he could give me a dollar off, if Jules was kidding.

The Young Republic has transformed, developed, reinvented, toured, shrank, and grown, and somehow, I have been invested in everything with them. There's something wonderful about being there in the beginning, about being apart of their fluidity. It's an emotional journey, from band lineup changes, quitters and dumped losers, folks left stranded out in the Texas dirt.

On Wednesday night, The Young Republic was in town. I have seen the band too many times for my own good:

Farmington, ME [The Landing: 2006]
Rangeley, ME [2006]
Kingfield, ME [Nostalgia Tavern, 2006]
Farmington, ME [Titcomb Mountain, 2006]
Farmington, ME [The Landing, 2007]

Somerville, MA [Davis Square, 2007]

Brooklyn, NYC [2009]
Manhattan, NYC [2009]
Farmington, ME [The Landing, 2009]
Portland, ME [Northstar Cafe, 2009]
Freeport, ME [Venue, 2010]

Now, the last time they were in Maine, and they played Northstar, it was a beautiful Friday night, at a venue right downtown, easy to get to, and they were ready to rock out. Will and his gang of guys were up from Boston, a group of people came down from Farmington, my Portland friends and family made an appearance. A group of us danced in the front the whole show, eating up every second, The Wolfpack.

This week was different. It was Cinco de Mayo, in Freeport, a suburb of Portland, about 20 minutes away. It was a Wednesday night. My brother, Joe, a Young Republic fan like myself ("They will be the next big band"), had to work, and his lovely, wonderful girlfriend Amy had class. A friend who missed the Portland show happened to live in Falmouth, so I put her and her husband's names on our list. Cyndi and Joe planned on the trek (they wouldn't miss a YR show in the area), and my wonderful Rachael, and record-store manager extraordinaire Rob... not a bad group.

The band was touring with Devon Sproule, a gem of a gal, voice like Janis Joplin, folk/country/jazz singer. I was a bum and should have grabbed her tunes before the show, but life gets busy, I walked into Venue blind to her offerings.

I arrived just as Lu and Nate, who no longer an "official" band member, was invited to play (much to my and Lu's relief - we'd like to put off the "seeing the YR, sitting with Nate in the audience" moment as long as possible), and I jumped through the doors ("We don't open until sev--" "I'm with the band!") to see some lovely familiar faces: Chris' red beard and warm hug, Kristin's animated face and great style, and Julian, sporting glasses that he wouldn't wear while playing, looking like an older, grown up version of himself. No sign of the alleged banjo player (had it all been a dream?), and a dummer, Joe, who I didn't meet until almost midnight.

The set started with TYR's acoustic stuff, some old and familiar,

Hearts on fire, they burn for miles true
I'll give you twenty-seven reasons why I'm coming home
but they're all just excuses to see you.

and some new songs, bluegrassy, country, smooth.

Now, in my experience, country doesn't bode well in Maine. We move faster in the Northeast, we'd like you to get to the point so we can dance. Ever since the band moved to Nashville, this country style has seeped back into their repertoire (oh-crap-we-thought-they-shook-it-off-after-12-Tales). But, I stand corrected: patience is a virtue that I don't often have, and after their quieter set, Devon hopped up on stage, and damn - when that girl opened her mouth to sing, the chatty, cinco-de-mayo bar fell utterly silent.

I understand now that touring bands must complement eachother, especially the supporting band, not changing, no, but staying fluid to fit with the whole theme of the evening. They will have their chance, I would say to my past self, keeping notes on the first set and wondering "What is going on?"

One of the most delightful parts of TYR and Devon Sproule traveling and playing together, is their collaboration. Devon played solo for a bit, and then TYR joined her on stage, backing her up, giving this lovely full background to her sensual stuff. And later, when the band had a chance to dive into their Balletesque revue, Devon had a chance to hop up with her guitar, or dance and sing, too.

From my fan perspective, there's nothing worse than waiting for your favorite band to get on stage, only to have to sit through some opener you can't stand. It's like their music has been tacked on to the top of the show, arbitrarily taking up time (building the anticipation?). With Devon and TYR, however ... this idea that they'd do oh, a little of this, a little of that, share the stage, enjoy each other, respect each other as musicians made me, the fan who only knew one band, walk away with a hefty respect for (and new CD from) the other.

The Cinco de Mayo show, including the amazing Isis (I married Isis on the fifth day of May), with Cyndi and Joe performing as much as the musicians, dancing together, spinning around, so fiercely in love, was a delightful midweek show. I can't wait for TYR to return, perhaps to play again in Portland, and really show us how to rock out.

And Devon? She will be in Portland this June. I think I'll have to check it out.

Handwritten Track List from that night; chime in if you know any real titles:
Everybody Looks Better in Black and White
Shiloh
(Kristin on vocals)"...church on Sunday..." ?
Tennessee Morning
It Could Happen to You
Excuses to See You
----Devon's set------
Girl from the Northern States
Rose Parade
Black Duck Blues
The Wolf
Alchemist
Isis
Goodbye Town
"Some non-dancing song ... psyche! actually a dancing song"

Feliz!

2010-05-05T12:57:00.002-04:00

Some of you know about my monthly mission at work. On the first Wednesday, I am in charge of finding an appropriate (read: shortish, positive, lovely, timely) poem to read at our birthday celebration. Luckily, being a creative writer, I have creative friends, and though I'm not much of a poetry reader, I have friends who read poetry regularly. I enlisted their help to come up with twelve relevant poems to read throughout the year.

January - Wallace Stevens "The Snowman"
February - e.e. cummings "i carry your heart with me"
March - Lucy Larcom "March"
April - JT "Underwhelmed"

And we come to May. May. Beautiful May. What an opportunity for a poem about flowers or lovely weather and spring, or new life or family or something wonderful. I had planned to go with "Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day" - an easy reach.

Until we found out that our monthly birthday celebration fell on Cinco de Mayo. Urrrrrrrrnh (that's the sound of a car hitting its breaks too hard and skidding a little).

Luckily, after much scrambling, I decided upon the poem "Bird" by Pablo Neruda. Pablo Neruda was a poet and activist, and the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize in literature, and he is considered one of the most influential spanish writers in the world. I also learned, at least according to Wikipedia, that he always wrote his poetry in green - the color of esperanza, which means hope.

Part one, down.

A resident also stopped by and asked me to maybe talk a little bit about Cinco de Mayo and the history of the holiday. For those of you who don't know, the holiday celebrates an important battle, the Batalla de Puebla, which is took place about a hundred miles outside of Mexico City. This was an instrumental battle which lead to Mexican independence from Spain in 1821. Mexican Independence day, celebrated in September, is a wildly celebrated national holiday. We're talking dancing in the streets.

But, if Mexicans celebrate Independence Day in September, why do we celebrate Mexican Independence day in May (or at all?).

WELL. Apparently, in the 1960's, some California State University students decided that, inconjuntion with their newest program of study, which was about hispanic heritage.They wanted something to recapture their history and identity and decided that the Battle of Puebla was symbolic and they could connect it to their struggle for the formation of a Chicano Studies program at the university. Thus, Cinco de Mayo, a celebration of mexican heritage, food and drink was born - and it's celebrated almost exclusively in the United States.

Good to know.

Salud!

You better take it from me.

2010-05-04T23:11:00.010-04:00

I'm pretty good at not getting nostalgic unless I think about it too much. I'm actually pretty good at a lot of things as long as I don't think too much - like making coffee, cutting with a paper cutter, creating an ad for an event, making major life decisions - which I'm sure is something that we all, especially us super-thinkers (read: creative writers? etc), go through. Maybe that's why we're all such great procrastinators - the thinking and planning and more thinking leaves us paralyzed until we have to just get our shit together and make it happen. Some of my favorite short stories were written in that 6AM-11AM window before Pat's class.

[Can I just take a second to apologize to anyone whose story I was supposed to critique the day my own story was due? Sorry about that. Chances are extremely likely that when the procrastination priortization came about, your story fell to the bottom of the list. Chances are likely that I drew a lot of smiley faces, underlined favorite words, and regurgitated great points made by my classmates, in the margins of your paper. My bad.]

But anyway, nostalgia. Look back to the Cowboy Casanova from an earlier entry. The Cowboy and I have had a unique relationship from the start, which began just about five years ago, if you round up. What started out as a mutual disinterest, or even close-dislike morphed into a antagonistic situation, which transformed into - some weird in between of like/lust/adore, probably with some lying and playing on both of our parts. I still don't really know where we stand, or where he ever stood.

We behaved inappropriately, stealing time after the bar, kissing in dark corners of driveways and houses. I wanted to devour him.

He's a good time cowboy casanova,
leaning up against the record machine
looks like a cool drink of water but he's candy-coated misery
he's a devil in disguise, a snake with blue eyes
and he only comes out at night
he gives you feelings you don't wanna fight:
you better run for your life.

My feelings? Genuine with a hefty side of selfishness. I try not to claim to know his feelings, because I'll always get it wrong. Give him too much credit, to be a kind but misled soul? Give him not enough credit, call him the slut that he is? He walks a very very very fine line, at least to me.

Everything with the Cowboy is long gone, and that's so good that I should be throwing fuckin' confetti. But then I get nostalgic.

It's the nostalgia that's the killer, it's the milestones marked, like ribbons in a bible, of danger and sweetness, and maybe it's the contradiction and tension of the two that makes it so damn irresistible. Hate to love and love to hate.

Consciously, the whole thing fizzled out, nicely and in all the right ways (I use the term fizzle lightly, because actually it got really fucked up right before it fizzled. Sort of like an explosion, leaving behind a wake of cooling embers). Mentally, in my heart, I am grasping at straws, and weeping at the loss.

I have a George Costanza leave-behind of sorts, but I don't know if I can utilize it - or, if I wait too long, I'll have lost the opportunity altogether.

He's more than just the Cowboy, when I think too much. He called me "Sweetie," one time under his breath, when I was overwhelmed by the beauty of his life. We had this partner-in-crime mentality that I wouldn't ever want to share with anybody else.

It won't do to dream of caramel, to think of cinnamon and long for you.

It won't do to stir a deep desire, to fan a hidden fire that can never burn true.

I know your name, I know your skin, I know the way these things begin;

But I don't know how I would live with myself, what I'd forgive of myself if you don't go.

So goodbye, sweet appetite, no single bite could satisfy...

I know your name, I know your skin, I know the way these things begin;

But I don't know what I would give of myself, how I would live with myself if you don't go.

It won't do to dream of caramel, to think of cinnamon and long for you.

2010-05-02T21:23:00.003-04:00

Best food ever.

Vacation Planning

2010-05-02T19:52:00.002-04:00

I've always thought I'd make a great vacation planner.

I think I secretly want to work as a travel agent, but I'm not really sure how that works - do they get a cut of the trips they book? I should just wikipedia that. I could definitely plan trips to Walt Disney World, where I not only poured over my favorite book before family vacations-

--(we have 1995, 2003, 2007 editions), but I worked for WDW for nine months in 2008/2009. I know that place inside and friggin out. Hell, I even tricked Will Underkuffler into having the most magical time of his life (see figure 1.1, below).

Figure 1.1: Note the two "First Visit" buttons.

That said, I've also been entrusted to create a three-day vacation for my residents at my retirement community. This involves researching Campobello Island, and St. Andrews in New Brunswick Canada, figuring out if the ferries from L'etete to Deer Isle to Campobello can handle a charter bus.

Additionally, and this is the best part, a pair of residents have donated two vouchers for Jet Blue plane tickets, flying anywhere out of Portland, before June 1. I, naturally, am pretty sure that I'm going to win those tickets. The next question is, where should I go?

1) New York City. The Big Apple. Convenient because the flight would be extremely short, which helps, because I could take, at MOST, only two days off. Less time traveling is more time on the ground. With an NYC trip, we could stay with friends, and enjoy the Central Park Zoo (where they have SNOW LEOPARDS. Holy crap!). We could eat hotdogs at Gray's Papaya, maybe go to Ellis Island and look up my family. The last time I was there, it was for a solid day of fun in the sun, but we didn't have a chance to go to the financial district or go to the Chrysler building.

2) Seattle, WA. Seattle is the furthest possible place on the list, at least worth going to. Seattle means Whale Watching... WILD ORCAS. I would totally love to check this out. However, Seattle means we have to pay for hotel room and the whale watching is $75 plus a 90 mile drive, so we'd have to get a rental car. It's not out of the question yet, but it seems like a) the hardest one to pull off, and b) if we went all the way out there we'd want to spend more than two solid days.

3) Washington DC. Washington is great because it's FREE. The Smithsonians, the monuments, the Capitol Building, etc. Plus, it's spring. Spring in DC is gorgeous. Maybe we'd go to the White House and try to meet my idol Michelle Obama. The National Zoo also has White Tigers (and orange tigers), but no Snow Leopards.

4) San Francisco, CA. I would love to see the Pacific. I have dreams about the Golden Gate Bridge, sort of the same way I have dreams about Orca Whales. San Francisco is the epicenter of cool, and my best friend Carla could potentially take a drive down from Tahoe City, where she lives.

5) Orlando, FL. The Disney Trip would be so easy. My partner-in-crime has not been to Disney before, and a short weekend trip would really be all it takes. Getting to Florida is quick and easy, and I'd love to see some of my WDW friends (Christina/Amanda/Ashleigh etc) and we could try to finagle some Maingate passes for a day or two. Just BEING in Florida is relaxing, and I wouldn't mind exploring some hotels or maybe thinking about going to Sea World or something.

So. What do you guys think? What are the places you'd go if you could choose?

Mercury is in retrograde.

2010-04-29T21:27:00.002-04:00

I hadn't heard of this crazy mercury and retrograde crap until this year. 'Twas just a normal day where I was running errands for work, walked out of the assisted living building, and, curiously enough, noticed something was wrong with the front of my car:

Aw, shit. I looked for a note and there was nothing. Shit fuck crap.

Okay, whatever. I'm out the $500 deductible, but, whatever. It'll get sorted out. I headed back to my office and CKO turned and said, "Huh. Must be mercury in retrograde."

Qua?

Here is Mercury in Retrograde:

I don't really get the science of it either and I think it's as boring as it looks. CKO explained it more efficiently: "It screws up everything."

Ohhhh well. Whatever.

The next day, I got pulled over.

The next day, I locked my keys in the car.

Then, CKO fell in the grocery store.

Then, the fire alarm went off in my building and I had to sit in my car, with Franny & Sasha, for an hour and a half.

Then, my car wouldn't start because the battery died,
Then, our activities coordinator at the assisted living building, Marc, got his computer fried in a power surge.

Then, the dryer ate my $2 and I have an entire load of laundry strewn around my apartment, trying to dry.

MERCURY. RETROGRADE. UNTIL MAY 11TH!

Please don't hang out with me until then. Thank you.

Intermission

2010-04-29T09:46:00.006-04:00

I'm taking a break from the huge blog entry that I've been working on to share with you something (one?) I found last night at Home Goods that I really want.

Actually, I found him ages ago with a friend, Jen, who was shopping with me one lovely Saturday afternoon (she lives in a small town a couple of hours away and when she gets to Portland, she tends to really really enjoy shopping).

He is a life-sized bear statue. Awesome because he is on clearance. He would fit perfectly to the left of my TV in my small apartment's living room. If the price drops any more, I'm considering buying him. NOT ALL OF MY FRIENDS (AE) AGREE WITH ME ABOUT HIM.

Will he fit in my car?

Back to work, people.

2010-04-22T20:00:00.006-04:00

Awesome things:

The opening notes to Coldplay's Speed of Sound.
Getting pulled over, but not getting a ticket.
Locking your keys in the car in the parking lot at El Rayo on a beautiful day - we waited for AAA to come while we ate nachos and drank their candy-like 'ritas.
The Young Republic dedicating your favorite song to you in New York City:

Unfortunate things:

Learning that your grandmother has gone to the hospital via ambulance (from the retirement community you work there really isn't - it's just a waiting game.
Having someone hit your car and not leave a note.
Thursdays, not Fridays.
Franny's silent meow. You can hear the air, but there's no sound.
The fact that Logan/Nate/Bob are no longer in The Young Republic.

2010-04-22T18:51:00.001-04:00

1) Just now, when I signed up for the blog, I had to answer a captcha, you know, those things where you type a warped word in the text box to prove you're not a monster. The word was "pukey." I laughed. But, I typed it in and hit enter and they said it was wrong, so maybe it was pokey or puckly, and not as funny.

2) Blogs? I write blogs. I write a blog post every week. I'm taking an IT500 class through SNHU and I have to answer questions like "Pick a career in IT and write about schooling requirements" and "Find out what responsibilities one in that career has" and "Research how much someone in that career, in your area, makes per year."

That last one made me want to shoot myself in the face. Apparently a system analyst in the Portland, Maine area makes $77,000 a year. Wait for it........ I hear echoes of my parents.... "Creative Writing Major? Interesting." (they are both scientists). Hmmm. I say this knowing that yesterday, when I was out to lunch with a friend of mine with his MFA in Poetry from NYU ("$80,000 in loans," he moaned, so I really can't complain with my managable 20 grand so far) and mentioned I'm going back to school he said, "Your Dad must be so proud of you!" (Guess what -- he is).

So for now, I'm still in that "non-system analyst" spot, but, like all of us, I'm trying. The MBA is in Social Media Networking, which means I will be a professional twitterer. Which means someday this blog could come up and destroy my career as a first class Social Media Network Consultant in the Portland, Maine area. Well, at least the title has a pretty exciting ring to it, huh?

In the meantime, I work for a retirement community.

Unexpected, what with that degree in creative writing. Since I run the activities department (with the help of an amazing Chief Knowledge Officer, my supervisor, who I will refer to as the CKO as we've decided in our tiny, shared office)(I keep saying that our office is small and CKO says, "Really? Why does everyone say that? Is that a bad thing?" which isn't a bad thing, because I adore sharing a space with my CKO. She's amazing). CKO knows everything. She knows how to take a newsletter saved in Publisher on 8.5 x 11 paper and print it on ledger paper, book-style. On the other hand, today she couldn't come up with the word "candidate" ("What's that word...for someone running for office...not nominee... there's a word..."), but this happens quite a bit in our office, on both sides, and instead of being annoying, it turns into something more like playing a random game of Taboo in the middle of the day).

But really, the job is, for the most part, lots of fun, despite the lack of Creative Writing Connection. And, like most creative writers - via some sort of official degree or by self proclamation - we must function in the real world until we hit it big.

3) Blogs. Bernadette just started a great blog, with a great first entry, about how she has a tendency to be bored and goatlike. So, Bernadette. I see your boredom and goatlike tendencies, and raise you one rambling post about...ten things I can't write entire blog posts about. Top this.

4) The Magic Hour is a time when the sun sits low in the sky and lights up everything in the east while the sky behind everything darkens. It's the best time to take pictures. I have no examples for you, so you're going to just have to trust me (and if you google image search "Magic Hour" you'll get a whole bunch of sunset posts. Which is not really what I'm talking about - Magic Hour does take place near sunset, but you're supposed to stand with your back to the setting sun and look at the gold the sun sprays all over the buildings and windows and trees and cars and wal marts and water.

5) When I got home from work today, Sasha was sitting in my open window (screened) on the fourth floor of my building, and she said hi to me from way up there, then disappeared from the window, and after I got my mail and took the elevator up, she met me at the door. Who needs a dog when your cat does that?

6) Black Eyed Peas "I Gotta Feeling" just came on my iPod and it makes me really happy. A woman I work with, call her Juliet because she's a Lost-junkie like I am, is my favorite person in the world. I Gotta Feeling is her ringtone so I chuckle when I hear it. And even though it's the most overplayed song in the world, it still sorta pumps me up and makes me feel all positive and excited about the world. I can't help it. I'm a pop junkie.

7) I just bought an iHome for my iPhone, and I can finally listen to eia stereo in my one bedroom apartment. I'm dying from music love, rediscovering shit that I haven't burned for CDs in my car. I'm between computers right now so all my stuff is on a hard drive at my friend S's house (he saves computers! He's a computer hero). I'm waiting for my new MacBook, but that won't be until I save up for it -- currently, I'm rockin' a little Acer netbook which only drives me crazy half the time.

8) Carrie Underwood's Cowboy Casanova came on my iphone/pod (I guess I call it an iPod when it's playing music?) and it makes me laugh because it reminds me of a guy I will candidly call The Cowboy. You wanna get out because he's holding you down but you can't live without one more touch. Danger, Will Robinson. Fuckin' Cowboy. He's had my soul for a long time.

9) I'm drinking a glass of wine that I bought for a friend of mine because I lost a bet about whether healthcare reform will pass. I haven't seen him for ages, so I cracked it open on Tuesday while I practiced cooking in my tiny kitchen. I love a nice, oaky chardonnay. I got this from my amazing stepmother.

10) I'm an official Paperback Swap user now and this makes me pretty happy - not because I am a reader of a books, but because I am a collector of books with clever and smart titles and I love to display those books on a bookshelf. I traded Joyce Carol Oates' book Rape: A Love Story for a credit, and I'll put that credit (and a second one) toward Sarah Palin's "Going Rogue." AM I EXCITED? YES.